The Arctic Assignment
by Alison Tears
Summary: 1950's AU, Hermione/OC. 1951, 6 years after the end of the second world war, the ministry for magic is still searching for those within the wizarding community who would use their powers to assist or support the Ideals of antisemitic Germany. Auror Hermione Granger is on the trail of a group of such wizards who are thought to be hiding in the far North.


The North was bright and cold as glass; sharp edges of blue and green and glistening white on a colloquial skyline and an ocean black with death. Miss Granger tramped unevenly through the pathways of watery snow that curled around a ridge of ice, the Arctic sea, dangerously beautiful, to her left. Shivering, she pulled a thick amber red coat closer to her body, her arms crossed over her chest and her black handbag swinging from her right arm. Despite her precautionary measures including a variety of warming charms and dispersion protective spells the Frozen North was a sharp contrast to the paved streets of London, and she was glad of the extra cardigans she'd gratefully borrowed from Ginny Weasley.

As she walked she followed one of two pathways on the road made by the tires of a muggle vehicle. She had supposed that by doing this she could find the closest settlement where, she had been informed back at the ministry, she was likely to find further information as to the whereabouts of a group of wizards who were keen supporters of the Nazi's during the war. Now, 6 years after the death of Adolf Hitler, they were again stirring up trouble. Hermione's breath created plumes of white, her fingers numb and fragile against the cold. She hoped that the wizards could be taken into custody as soon as possible so she get back home, to England. It wasn't as though she was complaining about the fieldwork itself but rather that she missed Harry, and she supposed she missed Ronald as well. It didn't go well, in the end, between him and her, but like she'd said at the time that was hardly either of their faults.

Even so it had made things a little difficult when it was initially made clear that both her and Ron would be taking on the Arctic assignment. She'd spoken to Harry, who had more headway as a respected Auror, and he was able to pull some strings so that Ron didn't need to tag along. "It will mean that you will have to take the assignment alone" he warned her "the ministry can't spare enough Aurors; things are heated at the minute"

"I know" Hermione had replied "thank you, Harry, I'll be fine" there was another part of her that was glad to get away from the boys; they were unconsciously stifling. Whenever partnered with Harry or Ron, one or the other always got the credit. She, the woman, the cheerleader on the sidelines. She gritted her teeth in the snow. Very few men within the Aurors department were happy to be partnered with her, certain that she'd just 'slow them down.' This was her chance to prove that they were wrong about a witches capability's in their line of work. Her hand reached into her pocket and closed around the handle of her wand.

It was then that she heard the sound of a car engine coming along the road behind her and she quickly stepped to the side to let it pass. The car was a slate grey Buick Skylark with toffee apple red fenders. It slowed as it passed her and stopped a short way along the road. Hermione's hand tightened around her wand, at once wary. She hadn't been able to see into the car because the light from the windows had only reflected her pallid expression gazing back at her, but she was shocked when a young reed-thin woman stepped from the vehicle. She had a high narrow frame and soft rounded cheekbones, and wore light brown trousers and a fair isle sweater. Wheat blonde, feathered hair framed her shocked expression. The two stared at one another for a moment, Hermione defensive, the other blank as a sheet. "hva gjør du her ute?" the woman asked suddenly, her voice concerned.

Hermione faltered, and answered slowly "Norwegian, ja? Norsk? Do you speak English?" The woman gave her a confused look, and Hermione pointed to herself "Engelsk"

The woman smiled and nodded, her dark blue eyes shimmering. Hermione found that it was hard to turn away from them; they were cold and dark as the ocean beneath them. "Engelsk, ja. I speak a little. You want to come?" the woman gestured to road "To town? I give you a lift"

Hermione walked over to car, looking behind her. they seemed to be alone. Peering into the car windows she saw nobody else, but her eye alighted suddenly on a magazine that was written in Norwegian, but undoubtedly had moving pictures. She glanced up at the woman. A witch, or maybe a squib. The woman smiled at her and got back into the drivers seat. After a moment's thought Hermione climbed in on the other side.

"My father, Engelsk, ja, he showed me words" The woman continued "but I am sorry, I am not good" The car continued along the winding road, the windscreen wipers turned on against the few flakes of falling snow.

"Well I can understand you, and that's the object isn't it?" Hermione smiled

"The 'object'?...

"The point"

"Ah…."

For a while, there was silence "Name?" the woman asked politely

"Ida" Hermione replied with a cheerful, stretched out expression. Her alias 'Ida Charleston' was a geography teacher from Maine with a passion for far flung travel. She enjoyed cycling and had two pet hamsters named Artie and Smartie. It was quite amusing to see the extent to which the ministry would go for every Auror's cover story, but yet every detail was of the utmost relevance. You stuck to your alias no matter what; you lost your cover, you lost your investigation. Depending of the nature of the assignment, you could very well lose your life.

"It is good to meet you Ida, I am Elizabeth" the woman replied. The car drove down a steep hill of watery snow, laced with road salts. The town was at once around them. Cabins encased with ice and more recent houses of tarnished stone stood to either side. Wide roads of dark grey and pale powdery snow encircled and interjected the settlement where people, mostly local families went about their lives. Many stopped to watch the car pass them. Hermione shivered at the sight of those curled into themselves, the flesh stolen from their bones by poverty. Many others seemed in good health but their expressions were cold and insurmountable, blunt as the ice.

"Who helps these people?" she asked, but Elizabeth's face was again blank as stone, as she made no reply.

The car was pulled up outside a building at the corner of a street, a gas lamp wavering over the doorway set into blackened brick "This is the local tavern, they also have rooms for travellers." said Elizabeth "I think you are in need of a room yes? It is getting dark." Hermione nodded and got out of the car.

"Thank you" she said through the window "Tell me what is the local industry around here?"

"Fish. It was good to meet you, Ida." Elizabeth drove away, and Hermione stood on the street corner, watching her leave. She turned then to walk inside, and noted the name of the tavern 'The sleeping Wraith'.

It was dark inside, and surprisingly crowded, groups of men in dark grey furs huddled around tables nursing pints of larger. Their eyes watched her closely as she approached the bartender, an obvious outsider in her modern and bright clothes, and she felt a grim shudder of obviousness. "A room, please" she asked the bartender in a voice she had meant to be louder. When settled into the pale attic room with the slanted ceiling and white washed walls she sat down at the rickety wooden desk by the window and in the last light wrote the beginnings of her first report.

 _Charleston_

 _Far North, successful arrival_

 _One Witch or Squib so far known_

 _unaware if involved_

 _community industry: Fishing_

 _morose atmosphere, poverty had stripped the town of happiness_

 _will investigate cause further_

 _will await further instruction_


End file.
